


a shimmering balance act

by Directionless_Foray



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Character Study, Crossdressing, M/M, Pretty boys in pretty clothes, it's not super shippy but i mean it kind of is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21933190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Directionless_Foray/pseuds/Directionless_Foray
Summary: There is a large wooden chest at the end of Charles' bed. It's a pale oak with black metal fixtures and he had it custom made.The man who built it for him told him his clients used these chests to store anything from sporting equipment and books to old clothes.Charles had smiled politely and paid him the agreed amount.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Daniel Ricciardo
Comments: 15
Kudos: 64





	a shimmering balance act

**Author's Note:**

> this was written over one afternoon because I spent a day vintage shopping and also remembered reading about old school bridal trousseaus and suddenly I decided Charles should have a secret wooden chest of pretty, frilly things. 
> 
> I cannot guarantee that it is not an incoherent rambling mess. 
> 
> title from 'Don't Take The Money' by Bleachers

There is a large wooden chest at the end of Charles' bed. It's a pale oak with black metal fixtures and he had it custom made.

The man who built it for him told him his clients used these chests to store anything from sporting equipment and books to old clothes.

Charles had smiled politely and paid him the agreed amount.

He folds his jumpers and piles them on top of the trunk in neat woollen stacks of navy, red, black, and grey.

No one has ever asked what's inside the chest and Charles never brings it up.

-

Charles runs into Daniel on the street one day and they end up having lunch together.

They eat seafood pasta paired with expensive white wine that's dry and crisp and lingers in Charles' mouth.

Afterwards, they wander along the street, ducking in and out of stores at random.

They end up in a kitschy gift store near the quiet end of the street.

The woman behind the counter is wearing a necklace comprised of lime green plastic beads in irregular geometric shapes. Her linen trousers are white.

They're also creased.

Charles unconsciously gravitates towards a display of long silk scarves designed by some local artist. He runs his fingers over a cornflower blue scarf. The silk is cool to the touch and he twists it around his wrist and imagines winding it around his torso.

"That one is nice," Daniel nods. "It'd look good on you," he says earnestly. Something uneasy stirs in Charles' gut.

His mouth is dry, "I think I'll get it for my mother," he tries to sound casual, "she likes blue." Daniel just shrugs and goes back to inspecting the hand-painted greeting cards.

Charles turns to face the bookcase. He presses a hand to his chest; his heart is thumping erratically.

-

He collects blouses and embroidered skirts and long dresses with hems that brush against the floor.

High-necked blouses in whisper-thin cotton muslin, trimmed with broderie anglaise and cotton ruffles.

Satin slips that look like moonlight's reflection in the mirror and with spaghetti straps so delicate that they force him to keep pushing them back onto his bony shoulders every few seconds.

Watercolour robes with floral prints spilling across the silk, fastened at the waist by long pastel ribbons.

Silky dresses he rescues from Vintage stores and carefully washes by hand. He empties bucket after bucket of cold, grey tinged water until the soft pink colour of the fabric eventually re-emerges. 

Crinkly packets of expensive tights in lace and one memorable sheer black pair studded with tiny little diamantes. 

A little paper box carrying a selection of brassy, pearl encrusted clip-on earrings and other costume jewellery trinkets nestled amongst tissue paper.

All of them are stashed away in the wooden chest.

-

Daniel invites him over for lunch.

Charles wrinkles his nose a little and offers to bring something.

Daniel lets him bring a salad.

Charles prepares a large glass dish of salad nicoise.

He almost splatters some of the oil from the tin of tuna on his grey jeans and he swears. The tin clatters onto the floor, remaining oil spilling across the floor in the process.

He quickly rips off a few sheets of kitchen towelette and tries to clean up as much of it as he can.

It makes his breath hitch, no matter how aggressively he scrubs he just can't scrape off the last of the oily residue. 

By the time he gives up his aching knees and shaking hands are slick and shiny and he has to go shower and change into a fresh pair of jeans. 

When he gets to Daniel's apartment he's still feeling flustered and vaguely off-kilter.

If Daniel notices, he doesn't say anything. Just invites him to settle down in the living room while he finishes cooking.

Daniel grills chicken breasts in a sizzling pan while diced vegetables roast in the oven. It smells good. Simple.

Charles can't tear his eyes away from a bunch of origami flowers, brightly coloured paper lilies, sitting cheerfully in a glass jug in the centre of the dining table.

Daniel follows Charles' gaze and chuckles, "some uh, some fan's kids made them," he explains. As if that even begins to explain why he's kept them.

Charles can't help thinking about those brightly coloured paper flowers for the rest of the week.

-

He has a pale peach coloured chiffon nightgown. Trimmed in creamy antique lace. There's a pale pink ribbon looped around the waist that Charles replaced a few years ago after the original started yellowing and fraying at the edges.

He ties the ribbon loosely and lets the droopy bow dangle. 

The skirt is meant to brush the ground but on Charles, the heavy lace trim tickles his ankles.

He likes padding around barefoot in his apartment wearing it. Absentmindedly swishing the yards of fabrics as he wanders aimlessly from room to room.

He’d uncovered the dress whilst helping his mother clear out some old boxes before moving into her new house.

He remembers rubbing the soft fabric between his thumb and forefinger thoroughly entranced.

She noticed him staring pensively at it and smiled, "beautiful, no?"

Charles had nodded.

"Just remember, Charles, it may be pretty but only a tart would wear that out in public," she teased.

The corner of his lip twitches at the memory.

Sometimes he'll slip into the layers of fluffy chiffon just before he has a bath.

He runs his bath, letting the steam fill the bathroom. He likes dangling his feet in the water. Frothy layers pushed up over his knees. Soft rivulets of chiffon trailing behind him, down the sides of the bathtub and pooling on the tiles like foamy champagne bubbles.

He dries his feet on the little bath mat and wanders over to the mirror. He watches as his reflection morphs into a smudgy, blurry approximation of himself.

The steam softens his edges. It simplifies all the contradictions he spends so long splitting hairs over.

In the mirror he is just a nameless pale shape wrapped in rosy fabric.

-

He ends up going out for drinks with a group of drivers one weekend.

Charles watches as a girl in a golden lurex camisole leans over the bar on her elbows to get the bartender's attention.

If she's not careful, Charles thinks to himself, the thin straps of her top are going to tumble off her shoulders and she's going to wind up with more than just bartender's attention.

"She's kind of cute, yeah?" Daniel nudges him and abruptly dragging him out of his reverie.

Charles wonders if it's more socially acceptable to say he was checking out a girl about to flash the entire bar or admit that he wasn't sure if her top was a silk blend or a mass-produced poly-nylon.

"I guess," Charles smiles ruefully.

Daniel cocks his head but offers to buy the first round.

Charles glances over again when no one is looking. The girl is still at the bar.

Her top is made of cheap man-made fibres and her lipliner is crooked. He wishes she'd push the damn strap of her top back onto her shoulder.

When he leaves it's with Daniel's big, warm hand pressed against the small of Charles' back.

-

There's a small metal box inside the chest.

Sometimes Charles will open the lid and select a berry-red lipstick. Use his middle finger to dab at the bullet and press the colour into the centre of his lips.

He uses the same finger to tap against the edges, gently diffusing the colour.

He deliberates over his smaller collection of glosses before settling on a clear gloss. The fuzzy doe-foot applicator is stained pink from the last time he used it.

He dips the applicator in the little tube and swipes some of the shiny gloss on his lips, careful not to smear it.

If he can be bothered he'll curl his lashes and apply a layer of inky black mascara. Some days the lipstick is enough.

Then he sits there in his room and tries not to chokes on the _injustice_ of it all.

How unfair it is.

How much lovelier he looks in his lipstick and his secret silks than the girl in the bar in her cheap ZARA top and overdrawn lips.

-

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask, do you actually have any stuff in here?" Daniel asks. He taps a scuffed vans-encased foot against the edge of the wooden chest.

It's that strange time of day, a few hours into the afternoon, when it's bright enough that they don't really need to turn on the lights indoors, but that just means there's still a cool darkness to the room.

Charles stares at the trunk for a few moments.

He walks over and crouches down in front of it. After a beat, he starts slowly transferring the stacks of jumpers from on top of the chest and onto the carpet.

When he's done his hand hovers awkwardly over the metal lock.

It's only ornamental but it‘a still pretty imposing.

"Do you really want to see?" Charles asks him.

Daniel's eyes crinkle and he slides off the bed. He comes down to crouch next to Charles. 

"Sure," he says softly, "I asked, didn't I?"

-

Daniel insists he doesn't have a favourite.

Charles endeavours to remedy this.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to challenge myself to write a happy Charles and i mean he's nowhere near as sad as he COULD have been but (ending aside) it's still pretty grim. I'll try again in the new year.
> 
> Anyway, i hope it wasn't terrible :)


End file.
